Firelilies
by pasadisu
Summary: In which Zuko and Katara find each other in the rush of fire, in the wake of the waves. Collection for Zutara Month.
1. O1

**A/N**

Heya! So, Zutara Month 2015 is upon us! It'll be my first time participating. I'll be posting it here on my fanfic account as well as my tumblr, pasadisu. I hope ya'll enjoy, and if you participate, why, the more the merrier, friends!

If not, I'm sure ya'll can follow the tag and read the lovely stories being submitted.

Um, all of these stories will probably be unnamed. Ohs, wells. Enjoy, and please review, loves!

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Prompt 01: Secret Lovers

This time Katara goes to him. There is no particular pattern, but he had stepped into her dream every night last week, and now it looks to be her turn. She has almost forgotten how painted the mountains in the distance look, so much like black ink against a paper sky. With familiar steps, she walks the path and enters a clearing.

Zuko sits in front of a gray fire. Beside him are two red cups of tea. When she walks forward, she makes no sound, but it is his domain and so he turns his head.

"Hey," he greets. She sees the half smile on his face, the one he gives her every time they see each other here, but it still manages to make her heart twitch.

"Hey," she repeats, and takes a seat beside him.

It is quiet, but this is normal.

There is a faint red hue at the base of the flames, right above the surface of the logs. Katara almost leans forward curiously, but then she sees Zuko shift out of the corner of her eye. He places his hands on the ground behind him, using them as support as he looks up at the sky. She tilts her head and looks upwards, but there are no stars, only a foggy blackness that shifts like smoke. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, she leans back on her hands in the same position.

Not a second later she feels the tips of his fingers. Neither turn to look at each other, even as his hand, rougher and larger, eclipses her own. They know how the dance goes.

Abruptly, there is sound in the hidden branches and leaves around them; cicadas chirp softly to the tune of grasshoppers, and above them, the smoke fades to show small orange circles, curved and bent in odd ways as if there were folds and creases in their paper sky.

"This is different," she says.

"Is that bad?"

Katara hears the hesitance in his voice and wonders where this part of him was hidden when he had landed in her village all those months ago. Or was it right in front of her but she had never bothered to see?

"No," she answers. She gives him a small smile from under shy lashes because they are both timid and clumsy in their steps, in the movements of the dance, though they have already shared breaths and touched skin. But this is a song that is played bit by bit, with many pauses waiting for the right note, the right vibrato in the echo, and so she has no problems slipping and stepping on his toes in the process. Tui and La knows that he has already done so, so many times, and that was way before the dance — Katara thinks this with a snicker.

The cups disappear as gold particles with a passing wind, and suddenly Zuko is holding onto her hand and pulling her toward him until they are shoulder to shoulder, her foot over his, his fingers over hers.

She looks into the fire, now blooming with colors, and thinks of the dragons he had met — the dragons he and Aang had met. Her stomach sinks, a motion that reminds her of the outside world, of how Aang is sleeping only a room away but Zuko is on the second floor, closer than he's ever been.

Katara feels his lips brush against her cheek and she grounds herself back into the dream.

Zuko smiles against her shoulder. He extends his body and lays on the ground; she remains sitting, looking at him curiously. He is still holding her hand.

"This is weird," he announces. "Still weird, I mean."

"I guess so," she admits, crossing her legs.

He reaches out and twists his fingers into her hair thoughtfully. "It feels like thread," he says.

"Feels like my hair to me."

Zuko pushes himself onto his elbows. She knows the next move, feels it down to her toes, but she instead flicks him on the nose and he scrunches his face in response. He lays back down, rolling his eyes.

Katara turns his hand over to look at his palm, wondering which line led to where and to what meaning. Did they match up with other people's lines? Would they match up with hers? Or…

"Aang kissed me."

"What?"

His hand is pulling away from her, but she holds on tightly. He manages a half-laying, half-sitting position to better show his expression, surprised and confused and panicked; she sees this all in his scarred side.

"During the intermission," she explains quietly. "He…asked me about me and him."

"…And?"

"And I said I didn't know." Katara shrugs. "I said we're in the middle of a war and it's hard to think about things like that."

"And then he kissed you?"

The progression of events didn't make sense even spoken aloud, and it is all she can do to nod in response.

"Oh," Zuko says, and then for some reason he says it again.

The silence that settles this time is one they are used to, but not one she thought she would have to sit through again. It is awkward and stifling. The sound of the insects are gone. She sees the shadows creep up through the sky once more, hiding the orange lights. The mountains look menacing from where she is sitting.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks finally.

He is upright now, and she has let get of his hand. Zuko looks at her and then looks at the fire; it is gray and smaller than what she remembers.

"Aang," he replies.

She understands. It always comes back to him. She feels like a running river, trying to break from the etched-out curve to the ocean. Maybe it is inevitable, and that all paths, all rivers, lead to Aang. Maybe it is already written, carved into her palm.

"Sorry," Katara says. "I didn't mean to bring down the mood or anything."

She feels the smirk before she sees it.

"Always raining on the parade, Katara."

"Wow, like I haven't heard that before."

Katara punches him in the chest and he grabs her hands when she tries to continue her onslaught; they both laugh, momentarily forgetting their duties, their obligations to their futures, the marks on their hands. Then, in the distance is the sound of crinkling paper. They turn and see the mountains crumbling.

Katara turns back to Zuko, suddenly anxious. She feels like there is something she is supposed to say, something to further erase the mood from before, something significant or worthy of being her last words of his dreams — "Zuko, I…" — but she comes up with nothing. For some reason, her heart aches.

Zuko presses the back of her hand to his lips. "I'll see you in the next one," he says.

He flips her hand over and kisses her palm, kisses the shortest line on her skin, and then Katara wakes up to sunlight and Aang's laughter and the smell of burning wood.


	2. O2

**A/N**

And here's the second. Enjoy and review, fellow Zutara lovers. (:

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Prompt 02: Red String

 _Ah,_ she caught him looking.

Zuko quickly turned his head back to the book.

"Alright, Aang," Katara called out, "let's take a break, and then Toph will train with you."

"Aw, but that was so short…"

"Sorry, Aang, but you're already really good at waterbending."

"Yeah… I guess so…"

Zuko blinked several times, willing his eyes to focus on the words. It had started to work when he heard the crunch of sand, and then Katara sat down next to him and he forgot why he had thought being on the beach was a good idea.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A book."

"Obviously."

That was a dumb answer. Such a dumb answer. Why did he say that? He sighed mentally.

"What's it about?" she asked.

Zuko glanced at her and immediately regretted it. She was pretty in the sunlight, next to her element; even though she was wearing Fire Nation clothes (and she pulled it off so naturally), one could tell she belonged in blue. He suddenly felt like he was the one out of place, despite it being his land and, technically, his water.

"It's a book of Fire Nation folktales," Zuko said, handing it to her.

"Oh, wow," she said, touching the old pages, the perfect strokes of ink. Before each new story was a small picture; she flipped through the pages to find each one.

"It's actually Azula's," he admitted.

Katara's head jerked up, regarding him incredulously. "She reads something other than torture manuals?"

Snorting, he shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe not now," he said, "but when we were younger she really liked these kinds of stories." Zuko reached for the book, flipping it to a tale deeper toward the end, and showed her the title.

" _Kang and the Red String_ ," she read aloud.

"This one was her favorite," he said, softer than he had wanted to.

Zuko cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the page, though he could feel her gaze.

"I didn't know you were…" She paused, looking for the right word. "Sentimental."

"I'm not," he said. _Not usually_ , but maybe it was the island and its effects.

Things were going okay before they got to Ember Island. He (mostly) had no trouble with the group, and he had his feelings under control, but then they arrived and he started to remember a lot of things, started to think about his mom and his father and his sister. And then, alongside that, every time he looked at Katara, his heart got warmer; for some reason, her presence pulled his mind back to the story of the red string, and he found himself often glancing at her arm down to her wrist, down to her thin fingers that would weave water like an intricate dance. His own fingers would twitch in response.

"—about? Zuko. Zuko!"

His attention snapped to her; she stared back with furrowed brows.

Katara shook her head. "Sure, you're not sentimental at all…" she scoffed.

He rolled his eyes but decided against saying anything; the evidence was against him after all.

"I asked what the story was about, the red string."

"It's about soul mates," he explained. "Basically, there's a red string that connects your pinky finger to your soulmate's pinky finger. Only Yue Xia Lao can see it, and he shows this boy, Kang, who his wife is destined to be. Kang's young and stupid, so he throws a rock at her head."

At that, Katara frowned. "Hey, that's rude," she said.

"Like I said, he's young and stupid." Zuko felt a smile tug at his lips at how intently she was listening to the story, despite his telling being a quick summary that didn't do it any justice. "Well, anyways, years later, his parents set up an arranged marriage, and long story short, the girl he had thrown a rock at is the one he ends up marrying. And that's it." Zuko pointed at the picture of the string between the man and woman. "It's supposed to never break, and the connection is regardless of time, place, or circumstance. Something like that."

Katara looked down at the book, tracing the curve of the string. Her finger brushed against his; he pulled his hand back, wondering if she heard his stomach jump.

"That's really cute," she said. "I'm still in shock that that's Azula's favorite story."

"Probably not anymore," he corrected.

Zuko's gaze drifted from her small wrist to the page, and then off into the sand. An image of a young Azula and him pretending to fish in the water came to his mind, and he suddenly wondered if Azula was the only person in the world without a string — even worse, maybe hers had been cut. Maybe he had cut it somewhere way back then, back when he had lost her to the darkness.

In his thoughts, he didn't see Katara staring at him intently. His face was more expressive than he would willingly admit, especially about things close to his heart, but she saw and took notice.

Deciding something, she abruptly grabbed his hand and held it up to the sky.

"Uh — " Zuko felt the back of his neck turn red; the embarrassment that his skin could flush so easily only made the red deepen. He hoped it wouldn't spread to his face, but Katara was carefully staring at their hands in the air with an exaggerated face of concentration.

"Hmm…" she hummed. "I don't see anything. Do you?"

"No," he replied, but he hadn't taken his eyes off her. She let go and their hands fell back to their respective laps.

"Guess the story isn't true," she said.

"Only Yue Xia Lao can see it," he reminded her.

"Ah, right," she said, nodding. "You shouldn't worry too much about it then. It'll work out in the end, right?"

"I wasn't…" But then he paused at her stare, at her small smile, and he realized that he could never deserve her. He still didn't think he deserved her forgiveness and friendship, and her heart? That was out of the question. All he had to show her were scars and mistakes and shame. Only someone as great as the Avatar could be worthy.

"Yeah, you're right," Zuko said. "Thanks."

"No problem." Katara gave him back the book and, at Aang's call and Toph's yell, she stood up and headed to where they were training.

Zuko watched her go, his eyes staring at her footprints leading away from him, and then he looked at the hand that had grabbed his. In the light of the sun, he could've sworn that he saw a flash of red connecting their fingers, and maybe it was real or maybe it was a cruel trick of his mind, but he held on to that delicate image through the rest of the days, even as he saw them kissing on the balcony of his uncle's teashop, weeks later.


	3. O3

Here's another one friends.

Thanks to those that reviewed, my lovely guest and my lovely IndigoArcher89! I very much appreciate it!

Also, to answer Indigo's question here for all to see: these are not connected! They may seem like it 'cause I'll write in the same universe or the same setting lol. If anything does connect, I'll be sure to let ya'll know.

Enjoy!

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Prompt 03: Drunk

"This was possibly the worst idea ever," Zuko grumbled, watching his teammates flounder drunkenly in the plaza of his beach house. Where did they find sake and palm wine? His father's collection was supposed to be locked. And how did they chug so much without his knowing?

Zuko tensed. Sokka was swinging his sword wildly, trying to show off to Suki it looked like; his face was red and his eyes were too wide to be considered safe. The blade swept through the air, singing as it did so; a second later, he swung it too close to Toph's head.

"Alright, I think that's enough, Sokka," Zuko said. He reached for the blade but the swordsman protested wildly, trying to keep it high in the air and out of reach. At one point, he had brandished it as a weapon in his drunken frenzy; luckily, Zuko dodged off to the side. The hardest part wasn't keeping clear of the swings but keeping his breathing steady; the urge to burn Sokka to a crisp was strong, more than usual.

"Why — why don't _you_ pull that _stick_ out your _butt_ , _jerk_ bender," Sokka sneered, waving his sword in his left hand. Leaning forward, he snatched the drink from Toph's hand — "Hey, Snoozles, that's mine!" — and just as he was about to down it, Zuko quickly jabbed him in the side, catching the bottle mid-air as it fell out of the other's hand.

"I said that's enough!"

Toph booed. "I think Sparky's got _two_ sticks up his butt."

"Maybe even three," Sokka agreed. Suki giggled, and hearing the noise, he was spurred on, adding, "Or four, maybe even five! Who knows, he could have a colony of sticks up his butt-hole!"

"I don't have a stick up — you know what, it doesn't matter, because drinking age is sixteen in the Fire Nation!" Zuko exclaimed, glaring pointedly at the twelve-year-old girl picking her nose. He knew she could feel the look; she just liked to play the blind card, the sneaky rat.

Sokka snorted, reaching for the bottle again. "Well, me and Suki are — "

"Illegal immigrants, _not_ Fire Nation citizens." In irritation, Zuko dropped low and swiftly tripped Sokka with a sweep of his leg, and as if to further add insult to injury, he then downed the bottle in two gulps as the others watched in a disappointed surprise.

"Stingy!" Sokka shouted. "You just wanna keep all the alcohol to yourself! Just like a greedy citizen of Fire Nation jerk-bending schnaggerschniffles."

"Yeah! You schnaggerschniffle! You suck! Boo!"

Zuko felt his good eye twitch and massaged his temples. "Tui and La, give me patience…"

"Ah! And you're a traitor to your own kind! Have you no _shame_?"

"If I was praying to Agni, I'd ask for your deaths," Zuko hissed, but when all three of them laughed and mocked his words in a deep and hoarse voice ( _My voice isn't even that raspy!_ ), he decided he had been ridiculed and playing mom for far too long. It didn't look like they had brought more bottles down from his father's collection; figuring that they were safe enough, he stalked off toward the stairs, intent on hiding the rest or pouring it out. The temptation was too great for him to just do nothing.

Zuko headed up the stairs quickly, pausing at the top to glance back down at the three in the plaza; they were still laughing, and as he watched Sokka challenge an imaginary monster to a fight, he had the feeling that he should've taken the weapon from him. He frowned; they should be okay for a bit. Maybe.

Shaking his head, he stepped into the hallway. Passing by an open window, he peered back out into the plaza — the sword lay forgotten off to the side while Suki and Sokka were fending off Toph's onslaught of pebbles. Zuko let out a sigh of relief, until the thought that maybe Toph would accidentally send a boulder their way in her drunkenness.

Life was so much easier when it was just him and his uncle.

 _"These are pakui berries, known to cure the poison of the white jade plant. That, or makaola berries that cause blindness."_

He sighed, ignoring the pang in his chest at the thought of his uncle.

There was a sudden stumble of feet. When he looked up, he saw Katara up ahead, leaning against a wall. Then, without notice, she doubled over onto her knees and hands.

"Katara!" he yelled, skidding to a stop in front of her. Zuko bent down and gripped her shoulders; she groaned painfully, and he swept her hair out of her face. Her cheeks were pink, and she smelled of alcohol. "…Katara, have you been drinking?"

She moaned as he helped her sit up; she leaned against the wall for support. "I'm never listening to Sokka again!" she complained.

"How much did you have?"

"How should I know?" she snapped. "Too ma _aa_ ny questions. Shaddup."

Taken back, he blinked incredulously while she held her face and continued groaning. Every now and again, she muttered out dark hexes he didn't know she had in her vocabulary. He tucked away the knowledge that Katara was not a particularly fun drunk, but then again, maybe it was just because she had downed too many at once, and it was likely her first time.

Zuko wrapped an arm around her waist and threw one of hers over his shoulders. "Come on," he said, helping her up.

"No, no walking," she mumbled. She was true to her words; her feet were dragging against the floor; sometimes he got lucky and she would take a step forward, but for the most part she was essentially being lugged along.

"Almost there," Zuko grunted, turning into the second room. The one nearest them didn't have a bed, but a quick peek into the next one showed that this was an unused one. It wasn't dusty as the group had done a decent enough job cleaning when they first arrived; there weren't any blankets either on the bed, but it was a hot day with a sparse wind. He tried to get her to the bed but she slid to the floor and used it as crutch instead. She was hunched over, spitting out weird colors.

"Aang?" she breathed out, her voice pained.

He tensed. Did she think he was Aang?

"W-where is Aang? We — I need to talk to him."

"I don't know," he said. "Wait, don't tell me he was drinking, too…"

"He's a monk," she retorted, and then a hand flew to her mouth and she bent over further, spitting and making vomiting noises with nothing substantial coming out. "Ugh, _ugh_ , why do people drink? Why?"

A curtain of hair fell between her face and his eyes. He pulled it back; she lurched again, spitting and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Zuko held onto her hair, goosebumps following up his arms at the softness, at the scent of the sea mingling with the sweet palm wine. She started laughing.

"I can't believe this is happening. Shouldn't Suki be doing this?"

"I'm not sure she can make it up the stairs."

She laughed again, pulling out a chuckle from his throat; Zuko moved in closer to better grasp the volume of her hair. Unsurely, he twisted it in his hands, trying to manage the wild tangles. He heard her sigh and stiffened, but tried not to show it in his grip.

"I can't believe this is happening…'

"You already said that."

"No, not _this_." Her hands flailed about, gesturing to what he was doing with her hair. "But, like, _this_ , you know, you and the group and all of _this_."

He didn't know what to say.

It was something he thought about a lot during the first few days, maybe even the first week or two when he had first joined the group. But as days went on, he forgot about how strange it was to end up where he did, considering how he started out. It was difficult to have too many thoughts when you were tasked with helping the Avatar defeat the greatest evil in the world — that being your own father, of course. The extra details fell to the side.

"Yeah," he replied finally, and then hesitated. "It's…good though. I feel…prouder now — of the things I've done in the past few weeks with you guys than anything I've ever done in my life."

She lifted her head then and looked at him with blue eyes that always made him uncomfortable. He tried not to squirm beneath her gaze; Zuko hoped that the curious look she was giving him was a good one, one where she was finally seeing him a better light.

"You have really pretty eyes," she said suddenly. "Gold and red."

And then he felt it, the burst of courage, the sudden intuition that, if he didn't do it now he would regret it for the rest of his life; there was an ominous feeling creeping up his spine, warning him that this moment right here, this moment where he was so close he could smell the sea and the alcohol on her breath, where his hands were in her hair and there was no one else in the room, would be another notch in his belt of shame if he merely let it pass.

Zuko pulled a strand of hair out of her face. "Katara," he started.

But then she leaned forward and heaved her breakfast, lunch, and palm wine onto his lap, and he couldn't get mad because he had that kind of luck after all.


	4. O4

**A/N**

Hey, everyone! A little late, but here's the fourth one.

I'm actually running behind on the writing; two prompts behind! Will be three prompts soon if I don't catch up tonight! I'm actually traveling right now so it's a bit difficult, but at least I don't have to write full out stories.

Thanks for the love last chapter; please send me moar, tee hee (:

Ah! This is AU, by the way.

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Prompt 04: Lost

Katara should've realized that a hospital called, "The Biggest Hospital in the Republic," would properly live up to its title.

She stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at the names written on the doors, looking for the one with her brother's name. She had asked for directions three times already; two of the answers received pointed her in different directions, and the last one was in a bad mood and did nothing to help her dilemma. She didn't want to stop another person, but the whole place was a maze of strange corridors that shouldn't connect and randomly numbered rooms. She felt as though they kept expanding the hospital while completely disregarding the fact that it needed to be _cohesive_ and less "Alice-in-wonderland-y."

Sighing, Katara looked around at the hustle and bustle. She really didn't want to stop one of them, but honestly, she wasn't even sure if she was on the right floor.

"Excuse me," Katara said, stepping forward to a much older nurse with gray hair. "Can you help me? I'm looking for my brother's room, but — "

As if it was a sign from the great spirits above, a door swung open and closed, and she caught the bolded **O** and **K**.

 _Sokka._

Her heart leapt.

"Never mind — thanks anyways!"

Katara rushed for the door. Finally, she would get to see her brother after the ridiculous amount of time waiting for her father's okay and searching for Sokka's room. Upon entering, she'd (hopefully) see that he was okay, and if he wasn't okay, she had already promised herself she wouldn't cry; but if he was indeed alright, then she was going to choke the living hell out of him for scaring her unnecessarily.

As she approached the room, images of her brother in a full body cast or without legs and arms or with a giant metal pole sticking out of his stomach flashed through her head. Impatiently, she yanked the door open, her stomach eating itself in anxiety; she pushed forward through the emotion and continued its cycle — the phase after worry: righteous anger.

"Sokka, you stupid idiot! What did you think — "

Her words stumbled into silence.

The boy in the bed turned his head toward her in surprise, but he wasn't Sokka.

"Oh, um." Katara swallowed a thick lump of embarrassment, feeling the noble wrath extinguish quickly under his confused stare. "Sorry, wrong room."

His left eye was concealed. She couldn't help but look at where it was supposed to be only to meet a white blankness. The bandage covered a good part of his face, wrapped around his head several times. She wondered what kind of injury it was to be so thoroughly bound; she wondered if he still had a left eye underneath it.

His lips pulled into a thin line as he recovered from the confusion, and Katara suddenly felt guilty and forced herself to take in his whole face rather than just the left side; her eyes overcompensated by only looking at his right.

"Aren't there names on the doors?" His voice was low and hoarse, but it seemed to dominate the room.

"Yes," she said. "I think I mixed up the letters… I guess I got impatient and — my brother has a K and an O in his name, too."

Even to her own ears, it sounded like the beginning of awkwardly ramblings.

He leaned back into the bed, his head turning away from her. She could no longer see his bandaged side. Did he do it on purpose? Was he embarrassed? What happened to him?

Katara bit her tongue. She was naturally a busy-body and a Nosy Nancy. She wanted to know things — was that so bad? Perhaps when the information she wanted to know pertained to a stranger whose room she had just rudely barged into. Thus, the tongue biting.

She got the feeling he wanted her to leave. Of course he did; that made sense. Who was she and why was she sticking around? Even after finding out that it wasn't the proper room?

She cleared her throat. He glanced at her.

"Sorry," she said again, feeling the awkwardness seep into her voice. "…Bye."

Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it, when she suddenly remembered the chaos of the halls, the frustration and confusion of a rat in a lab. She turned back around and cleared her throat again. "Um, actually, okay, I'm sort of lost. Can I — err, not to be rude, but, do you know where 664B is?"

He turned his attention back to her, shifting his head to where her eyes were able to curiously glance at his hidden injury once again. If he noticed, he didn't show it, but the sting of sin still hit her. She focused on his right eye and his words, resisting the temptation.

"B's the other wing," he said. "You're in Wing A. You're on the right floor, though."

"Oh, okay," she said, confused as to why that was easier than she expected.

"But you get to that wing on the floor above us, I think."

Ah, now it made more sense as to why she couldn't figure it out.

"Who the heck built this place…" she grumbled.

There was a half-amused smile on his face, one that was charming enough to pull a half-one out of her as well.

"Okay, um, well, thanks," Katara said after a beat. He nodded and then turned his head again.. She placed her hand back on the doorknob — but still, she lingered for a second longer, wondering if he would say something, wondering if she was going to have some sort of sign, some sort of signal from any spirit above that would tell her what her thoughts and his glances and her dawdling meant — if it even meant anything.

Was it supposed to mean something?

All she knew was that he had hair blacker than the arctic night sky, that he had nice arms under the hospital gown, that his left eye was covered by secrets that pulled at her tongue, that there wasn't a single balloon or flower or card at his bedside table.

Katara exited the room and, gently, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a second for reasons unknown. With a shake of her head, she took off toward the stairs or the elevators, whatever came into view first, and decided that tomorrow, she would remedy his bedside table with a thank-you present, maybe some flowers and chocolates. He seemed like a sweet-tooth kind of guy.

And when tomorrow came, she would knock on the door properly, asking for his name and if it was okay for her to show her thanks, and with Katara being Katara, things would then get loud and snippy, awkward and endearing; then, because life had a funny sense of humor, he would let slip that he was allergic to chocolate even though he had already eaten a whole bar in front of her, and she would let slip that he had nice arms and that was why she leaned so close.


	5. O5

**A/N**

Hey, friends! Here's the next one. I'm actually super behind! Several prompts behind, actually... But I'm trying to catch up while balance food and exercise (that's not working well) and homework (that is also not working well). Did I mention I also have a cold? Why is life hard?

Enjoy, loves, and please leave a review if you liked it (:

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Prompt 05: Wedding

The door creaked open. Zuko didn't look up from his book, but the fires in the room flared brighter, illuminating the path to the bed.

"You know," Zuko started, flipping the page, "this could be consider treason. It's unlucky for the country if we see each other before the wedding."

He received a familiar combination of a snort and snicker as Katara slipped beneath the covers. Arms wrapped around his waist and he had to adjust himself to comfortably fit her head and body against him while maintaining eyes on his book.

She rolled her eyes. "The Fire Lady gets to do what she wants, and that includes ignoring superstitious customs that don't belong in this era."

"You're not the Fire Lady yet," he said, resisting a smile.

"Seeing as how I sleep here, eat here, sit next to you during the council meetings, and run my own projects, I think I've been a full-fledged Fire Lady for three years now." She poked his stomach for emphasis; when he feigned a wince, she grinned in satisfaction and snuggled back against him, but then a thought struck her and she sat back up and punched his arm. "I can't believe it took you five years to propose."

"You said you wanted to take it slow!"

"Not as slow as a spider-snail!"

He smiled cheekily abruptly, and she narrowed her eyes in response.

"Well, you stuck around, so I must've done something right," he said.

She pinched his cheeks and he pulled her hair; the book fell off to the floor, forgotten, and then they rolled around, each pinning the other down, laughing and smiling and full of love. Then, they lay side by side beneath the covers, grinning at the ceiling, their fingers brushing. Whenever they caught the other's glances, they giggled for no reason.

Zuko turned on his side then, propping his head up with his hand; she followed suit.

"When did you fall for me?" he asked.

She tried to look exasperated with an exaggerated heave and roll of eyes. "This story," she said. "Again? Really?"

He hid a smile. "I forgot," he said simply.

"Sure you did." Katara brushed his hair out of his eyes, her fingers lingering on his cheeks as she pursed her lips, pretending to think about this long ago story when she still remembered every detail, down to the frosted air and fleeting touch of skin.

"Hmm. How long ago was it, now?" she asked. "Eight years ago? Nine?"

"Nine," he said.

"Has it already been that long?"

They sank deeper into the bed. Zuko closed his eyes. Katara touched his scar.

"We were traveling around, Team Avatar, because they needed us to show our face and promote our ideas, make it official that the war was over," she said.

"Mhmm." Sleep was closing in on him, but he blinked his eyes opened to chase it away; then, quickly, they flickered closed again.

"And that was the first time I had a weird feeling — "

"What feeling?" he mumbled.

She smiled, feeling her chest surge with a bright feeling, a bright something that she couldn't identify but it warmed her down to her toes.

"The first feeling of butterflies," she answered softly.

A sleepy grin, unabashed, unashamed, slipped onto his face. His hair was long; his face was older, a lot older than his age, but the grin was boyish and reminiscent of younger days and teenage kisses. Katara cupped his cheeks, pressed her thumb on the space beneath his eye and against his nose, and then tucked her hand underneath her chin, shuffling in closer until she could smell the fire and the ink and the scrolls that lingered around his body.

"When?" Zuko asked.

"It was in the Southern Water Tribe. We stepped off the boat and the whole tribe was waiting for us. And my Dad was there, and Gran-Gran, and before me or Sokka even thought about running to hug them, you stepped forward and dropped to your knees. You even pressed your face into the snow. That must've been cold."

"Mhmm."

"And, in front of everybody, you begged for forgiveness. And then you did the same thing in front of everybody in every city."

"Mud…" he muttered.

"Yes," she laughed. "There was a lot of mud in the Earth Kingdom."

There was a space of silence then, when she was watching the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his smiles as they came and went; she wondered what he was thinking about, what memories surfaced.

"Hey, Zuko," she whispered.

"Mhmm?"

"When did you fall for me?"

He sighed and then yawned. "I've always loved you," he said. "From the very beginning, from the very first water whip."

"I can still kick your ass," she teased, and he shook his head and flicked her nose and fell asleep.

Katara laid awake a little longer, staring at the marks on his face and the curve of his eyes and the discoloration of the scar on his chest, the warmth of his hands, the lines on his skin that only promised futures, only ever promised futures.


	6. O6

**A/N**

Ahhhh! I finally got it up!

Ya'll, school is just too stressful. Shiet.

Anyway, because this was supah late, I figured I would add in the next chapter, too. Merry Christmas? Happy Holidays? Teehee.

Thanks to all the lovely people that have favorited, followed, or reviewed. I really appreciate it, and I love and am so happy that you guys are enjoying this as I am having a lot of fun writing it.

Please read on, and drop a review if it's to your fancy! A present to me, mayhaps? Bahaha :)

Stay safe, loves, and I hope you have a wonderful time, however you're spending it!

* * *

Prompt 06: Somebody To Die For

"Ahh," Sokka groaned as he sat down beside Zuko on the steps of the beach, stretching his arms out above him.

Zuko's eyes widened slightly, feeling an uneasy nervousness settle atop his skin. He had good times and only good opinions of Sokka (minus the horrible past they had), but sometimes, whenever they were alone (especially these days), Zuko was always…on edge. He cared a lot about the other's words and what he thought, but maybe it was because he was crushing hardcore on his sister that he felt that way so strongly.

But that was a little secret that he'd take to the grave.

"So," Sokka said.

"So," Zuko said. He scratched the his cheek and watched Toph make a larger-than-life version of herself with the sand.

"You know. Doing good. You."

"Huh?"

Sokka cleared his throat. "You're doing good," he clarified nonchalantly. "With being good and, you know, not stabbing us in the back and turning Aang in."

"I've changed — "

Sokka put his hands up. "I know, I know. I'm saying you're doing good."

Now the nervousness was getting overrun by awkwardness.

"Ah…thanks."

The water tribe soldier nodded in response, eyes glued to the ocean. "Yup. Yuuupp…"

Zuko wondered if it was always going to be like this, if there would always be an uncrossable ocean of space hidden in the foot of distance between them.

Along the shore, Toph sent a wave of sand at Suki who quickly dodged and laughed; inadvertently, a small portion of it hit Aang and Katara, and they both whipped around and raised a monster of a water attack together, declaring war.

"And…" Sokka started. "Thanks for helping me back then, with saving Suki and my dad."

 _"My first girlfriend turned into the moon."_

Zuko gave him a small smile. "Yeah," he said. "No problem."

Sokka clasped him on the shoulder once, squeezing as if in an attempt to send words and meanings and emotions that he couldn't out loud, and then he ran off toward the fight, yelling about how he'd protect Suki and he could kick everyone's sorry butts, bender or not. Zuko watched him go, laughing to himself when Toph tripped him without batting an eye.

Zuko leaned back on his elbows, digging his toes further into the sand.

He wondered when he started thinking of them as more than just a mission.

He wondered when he had decided that he'd die for any one of them.

How does one come about this decision, he asked himself. What did they do to suddenly merit this feeling? This desire that was, literally, about life and death?

Did any of them…feel the same way about him?

Maybe. He'd like to think so.

 _"There's no honor for me without the avatar."_

And then, maybe not. But he was used to people turn their back on him. He was used to turning his back on people.

"Why are you alway moping?"

Zuko looked up; he hadn't noticed Katara's arrival. She stood in front of him, her hands on her hips; she was blocking the sunlight.

"I'm not moping," he said, hoping he didn't sound as defensive as he thought he did.

"Sure," she scoffed. "Why don't you join us?"

"I'm seventeen."

"And?" she said. "I'm fifteen. So? Come anyways."

His frown deepened. Was she really only fifteen? He wasn't sure how old he thought she was. Sometimes she seemed as if she was eons older, eons wiser, and then other times she seemed so naive, so childish, like that of a fledging turtle-duck.

Agni, only _fifteen_. Marrying age in the Fire Nation was sixteen, and there wasn't, really, much of a different between the two ages — yet there was. She was two years away from him and one year away from being eligible for marriage, and neither had any correlation with the other, but at the same time they did and at the same time she was only _fifteen_ and so far away from everything and so young for anything.

And he would die for this fledgling. He could.

At the thought, there was a sudden buzzing in his bones — not from anxiety, but from terror, a true horror resonating somewhere deep in the marrow. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was an omen.

"Come on, hurry up," Katara said, reaching out to grab his arm. Immediately, he jerked back and blabbered something incoherently, suddenly scared that she'd be able to feel the rapid beating of his heart against his skin, and he'd do anything to keep her from finding out. She raised a brow in response at his strange action.

"I'm good," he said, trying to cover it up. "I'll just watch. Not in the mood."

She stared at him a second longer, and when he didn't budge under her stare, she shrugged her shoulders and said, "Alright, fine," and jogged back to the group. As she approached, Sokka threw his boomerang at her and she pulled the water toward her with a few quick movements, turning into an octopus that whipped his backside.

"Cheating!"

"All's fair in love and war."

"What happened to kicking our butts, huh?"

"I know where you _sleep_!"

Idiots. Children. All of them.

Zuko smiled.

They laughed, but Katara's voice was what his ear picked out the easiest; it floated toward him on top of the smell of salt and sand and sea. Against the glow of the sun, she was radiant, and then the buzzing was back in his bones. In the distance was a flash of lightning, somewhere too far away for them to be concerned with.

When she turned and smiled, the blue and the gold reflecting off her eyes, he thought that he wouldn't mind living for her, too.


	7. O7

**A/N**

Annnd the next one. Please read, review, and enjoy - not necessarily in that order.

* * *

Prompt 07: Regret

As Zuko held the bowl of whale-seal meat soup in his hands, the thought finally struck him that he shouldn't have accepted it. It had come under Katara's recommendation ( _"We only eat these for celebrations. I know how it looks, but it's really good, I swear."_ ), and he should've known better than to eat anything under _Katara's_ recommendation. Even Sokka had admitted to it once before. On the ground beside his foot was the plate of dried sea prunes, untouched because they looked a lot like — "Mhmm!" Aang grinned when Katara handed him his bowls.

Zuko shook his head. There was no way he was _that_ excited. It had to be a lie. He had to be putting on a front for her, and by the way she grinned widely as she walked back toward the pot to get a bowl for herself, it was definitely a front.

Zuko brought the spoon to his mouth, blowing on it to heat it up in the hopes that maybe he wouldn't taste anything weird. As he swallowed with a grimace, he realized that he would've preferred a weird taste instead of what he got: a powerful blandness with too much salt. It smelled like the fish and the sea, which made sense considering their location, but it was still very unappetizing.

He sighed, wondering what he was to do now.

"It's too freakin' cold here…" a voice complained.

On a log some ways away was Toph. There was a scowl on her face as she pulled her jacket closer; she had to wear shoes for protection (she had protested, saying that it would "muffle" her vision, but losing her feet wasn't a better alternative). Not wanting to look like an ungrateful brat, he picked up his bowl and plate and made his way over to Toph, taking the empty space beside her.

"Hello there, Sparky," she said, immediately recognizing him. He didn't know how, but he never doubted that she could. "I could've told you that the food sucked. And I'm blind."

He grunted, glancing at the lumps of gray meat sticking out of the murky soup. She shifted her feet uncomfortably and swore; her breath came out foggy and angry, unable to be coaxed by the fire in front of them. He thought about moving the log closer, but then maybe it was a bad idea considering Toph couldn't quite "see," more so than usual anyway.

"Just set me on fire," Toph grumbled.

Zuko chuckled. She reached out to punch his shoulder and was about to miss, he being so much taller than she even when sitting, but Zuko shifted his body quickly and subtly; her fist rammed into the intended target.

"Tomorrow, we'll find a good rock or spot of land and I'll burn off the snow for you," he offered.

"What's that gonna do?" she muttered.

"I'll heat up the land and you can stand on it a bit," he explained. "Give you a chance to look around."

She didn't say anything, and he blinked against her lack of a response, wondering if he had overstepped his boundaries or said something stupid. But then she lifted her fist — and waited. He looked at her in confusion, and then he saw the red on her face and the reluctant smile that quickly disappeared into a scowl, and he shifted his shoulder into her line of fire and she punched it.

His attention fell back to the bowl. He sighed, bringing the spoon to his lips, and as he did so, Aang and he both caught the other's glance, which then turned into a thirty-second long staring war. Zuko was the first to make his move, swallowing his spoonful, and then it was Aang's turn, and then it was Zuko once again. Not a moment later and the two were both chowing down quickly, forcing as much as possible into their mouths and down their throats with the minimum amount of chewing.

They were both eating at the same level as the other in a stalemate, giving Zuko hope that he could possibly overtake him in the next couple of bites, but then his body betrayed him, sending signals of an impending vomit. In his horrified hesitance, Aang finished his bowl and was the silent winner.

Zuko looked away, coughing, wishing he had something to wash it down other than the bland soup.

Aang's voice drifted over with the crisp wind. "Thanks, Katara!"

He resisted sighing, but Toph seemed to hear it.

"Sugar Queen likes it," she said.

"I know," he answered.

She shook her head. "I'll help you out this once," she said. "Finish your food."

Toph reached for the bowls beside her. It took longer because she could barely see them; she fumbled in the snow for a bit until her fingers finally grasped the cool plate, and once she had them, she chunked them behind her. It was only when Zuko noticed how the food sat out in the open behind the log, very obviously, that he finally chugged the rest of his soup and buried her food quickly (and threw his dried sea prune in, too, because he would probably break his teeth trying to bite into it).

"Alright, Sparky, you're up," she said, dropping the empty bowls next to him.

"What?"

"Hey, Sugar Queen!" Toph yelled. "Sparky needs another bowl!"

Zuko's eyes widened from behind Toph, but when Katara turned around and stared incredulously at him and the empty bowls and plates, an impressed grin snaked its way onto her lips. Beside her was Aang, Sokka, and Hakoda, all staring at him in surprise. Zuko gave an embarrassed and hesitant smile because it was a lie and something in his chest trembled at the idea of lying to them, but she seemed really happy and he didn't have the heart nor courage to tell her the truth (the truth that Southern Water Tribe cuisine was uneatable and he'd rather eat snow for the rest of his time there). Instead, he merely waved at Hakoda's nod and hoped they couldn't see his internal grimace.

"Here," Katara said, giving him another bowl and plate. He tried not to throw up in her face; his stomach told him that he'd regret it in an hour, but her beam promised him he wouldn't.


	8. O8

**A/N**

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Thursday?

Please enjoy and review (:

* * *

Prompt 08: Lullaby

The plane trembled as it pushed off the cement and raised itself into the sky. Zuko sank into his seat, gripping the armrests with white knuckles and a flared nose and clenched eyes. He tried not to think about how, as each second passed, he was farther and farther away from solid land, and the only thing between him and certain death was a giant metal machine with a target on its wings for karma or luck or the universe to strike.

And yet, despite all the signs and gut feelings, there they were, soaring above the clouds.

Zuko felt his breakfast climbing up his throat; even though he gritted his teeth and chanted mantras in his head, he was unable to stifle the growing groan of anguish.

He leaned against the window, hoping for a stable surface, but he shook with every rush of wind and shift of orientation. Morbidly, he mused how his body would look when it hit the ground — no, wait, he'd probably explode with the plane in flames. Maybe if he was lucky, his uncle could get an arm to bury and mourn properly. Hopefully it was his left arm — that was the better arm.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Zuko, are you okay?"

He thought about lying and just toughening through it, but the idea of preserving his pride quickly vanished when he felt the plane tilt and beep and snicker evilly in the rumble of the engine. When he tried to reply, he felt the bile come up and quickly snapped his mouth shut, forcing it back down. Katara must've seen the grimace and movement of his throat, because her hand tightened on his shoulder reassuringly.

"Oh, yeah," Sokka said from the seat behind them. "You've never been on a plane before, huh."

Toph laughed enthusiastically, shaking the seat in front of her; it was Zuko's seat, of course. "Ah, Sparky, this is gonna be a good ride."

Another groan escaped his throat at the horrors she would inflict on him, as if the movement of the plane and the many scenarios of a fiery death wasn't enough.

"Stop shaking his seat," Katara snapped. "He's gonna throw up."

"Pfft. Am I the one sitting next time him?" Toph snickered. "I don't think so."

Silently, he vowed to dump her in the first pool he saw.

"Come on, Zuko," Aang said from beside Katara. "Flying isn't scary. It's really cool and freeing! Birds do it all the time."

 _Good for them._

"Yeah, they swoop up and down, side to side," Sokka mused, "and loop-de-loop-de-loop, just like roller coasters — "

"Ugghhrhhhhhh…"

"You guys are awful." Katara sighed, but the rest of his friends laughed and he suddenly wondered why they were friends. He felt Toph reach over and ruffle his hair, but he only sank in his seat and thought about the crack of the engine, the nauseating blue of the sky, the gasoline and the flames and the fall, Icarus and his wings of wax, the smell of melting skin and — he leaned forward because suddenly, _oh, god, oh, god, here it comes._

Abruptly, there was a rubbing on his back, smooth, small circles; the hand paused and scratched lightly, shifting from the middle of his back to his upper back. Zuko focused on the light pressure; his shoulders slowly relaxed and he peeked out of his good eye, in between his lashes and his arm, at the safety of her leg and how her blue eyes were a different hue than the sky, reminiscent of the hue of the ocean. He thought about the days spent on his uncle's ship, how the waves always rocked him to sleep.

Without another thought, Zuko placed his head in her lap and then slipped his hand under her thigh and looped his other arm around it. She smelled like rose shampoo and detergent. It was soothing. He sighed. She continued rubbing his back, his shoulder; he listened to her breathe, concentrated on the nuances of her shift in body as the air cycled in and out, in time with the hand on his back — _circle, circle, scratch, circle, circle, scratch_ — and the fingers combing through his hair.

Aang cleared his throat and groaned suddenly. "Hey, you know, Katara, I don't feel really good either…"

Zuko tightened his grip onto her leg. He thought he heard her snort, but if it was at his action or at Aang's words, he didn't know.

"Oh? That's weird," she said. "You're normally really good with planes."

"Yeah, ugh, I don't know," he moaned. "The take-off was shakier than usual."

"Well, maybe you can trade places with Sokka and borrow Suki's lap."

"What?" Sokka exclaimed. "My Suki! Get your own, Aang."

"Sokka…" Suki said, but she sounded pleased, if not amused, at his reaction.

"Come on, Twinkles," Toph said, trying to stifle a laugh but failing miserably as each word was underlined with a snigger. "I'll help you get through your motion sickness."

"…No thanks… I think I feel a little better now."

Zuko relaxed, hearing Aang slump in his seat.

She tugged his ear and then brushed strands behind it. He sank into a light sleep, listening to her breathe over the chattering of the people and the machinery, and dreamt of arctic seals in blue oceans, of soft kisses and brown tresses, of a golden-dusted angel saving a falling Icarus, of his uncle and broken family, of his friends, of Katara.


	9. 1O

**A/N**

Okay, so there's supposed to be a nine, which is the prompt Sun and Moon, but for the life of me I can't figure anything out for it! I didn't want this to be out of order, but unless I want to have this rotting away, I suppose I'll have to just move forward and throw in number nine later on.

Please enjoy, friends!

Oh, and this is indeed AU.

* * *

Prompt 10: Reincarnation

Her eyes widened.

 _Dragonkin._

She ducked behind the boulder as he landed on the edge of the lake. From the safety of the rock, she looked up, searching for others; they never traveled alone. There was a breaking of branches behind her, and she whipped around in surprise; a strike of panic had her thinking that maybe it was another and that she was about to get swept up and devoured — but it had only been a rabaroo that had startled her.

Unfortunately, her splash of water did not go over the dragonkin's head.

"Who's there?" he asked tersely.

She pressed herself against the boulder.

"Show yourself!"

Silence answered him. She willed herself not to breathe, hoping that he wouldn't come over. She wondered how fast she could swim to the underground cavern and make her way back home should he try to capture her. He controlled flames but she was in her element; he had to create his. She had the upper hand. Water could always douse fire.

"Fine," he said. "I guess I'll just have to burn down the forest to find you —"

"Wait!"

There was a snort.

She swore silently. She'd been tricked.

"Come out," he said, and she mentally berated herself for not leaving when she had seen him land.

Slowly, she pushed herself off the boulder and peered around it until she was fully in open space. _I have the advantage, I have the advantage,_ she chanted.

He was crouched on the edge of land, right before the water. They were still feet away, but it was still the closest she had ever seen a dragonkin, though many stories were told about their aggression and dangerous flames. Looking at him, she remembered one story that her mother had told her, about their courage, their familial ties, their laughter that would echo with the wind.

There were a lot of things the stories had gotten wrong. He was pale, for one — a lot paler than her people, and they lived underwater away from the skies for months at a time. His hair was a deeper hue than just black; it reminded her of the color at the top of the lake at midnight, when she lied on the bottom and looked upwards. And then there were his eyes — the color of the sun.

"A water worm," he said, pulling her from her observation.

She frowned. "That's an ancient and derogatory term," she remarked. Briefly, she wondered if it was a good idea to get snappy with one of them, but she, too, had her pride, and she would never let anyone get away with calling her such a thing.

"A water nymph, then."

"Dragonkin," she said.

His left wing caught her gaze. It hung almost limply, especially in comparison to his right wing. There were long scratch marks on the left one; blood dripped down to the dirt and the water. She thought she saw a rip in the skin, but at her gaze, he shifted his body and tucked away the appendage; she didn't miss the wince of pain at the movement.

"You're hurt," she said.

"I'm fine."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed males of all races came from the same waters.

"You can leave," he said. "I wasn't really going to burn down the forest. And we don't eat nymphs, if that's what you're wondering."

Well, she wasn't going to admit it aloud. A second passed by as they stared each other down, until finally she turned and ducked into the water, relieved that he hadn't attacked her. The cavern wasn't far from where she was; she could see it in the sparkles of the sunlight mixing with the blue of the water. She swam toward it, but without first consulting her brain, she turned to glance at him from under the water — and then stopped. Through the ripples of the lake, she saw him crouched over, his left wing spread out: four long scratches, three holes, and a large burn mark the size of his head.

She turned away. It was none of her business.

But she swam back up anyway, because she was the number one apprentice healer of her tribe, because before she had dove back into the water, she heard him sigh so forlornly that her heart ached and she was reminded of long ago times that she didn't know of.

When her head shot out of the water, he was startled; she almost expected a jet of fire, but he only glared at her.

"I can heal you," she blurted out.

His glare melted into surprise, and then shame; he looked away from her and to his wing.

"It won't work," he said.

"We haven't even tried."

"Why do you care?" he snapped.

Instead, she said, "Don't be afraid," and swam closer. He tensed, and suddenly, the tables had been switched; she made small, slow movements as she made her way to the edge of the lake, trying to convey through her thin fingers, her open palm, her calm eyes, that she wouldn't hurt him, that neither did nymphs eat dragon flesh.

He had taken a step back when she had reached the ground, her hands pressed into the dirt and the grass; then, as if remembering her words, he narrowed his eyes. "I'm not afraid," he said brusquely.

"I know," she said. She felt him look at the scales on her lower body, blue and coral, and she looked at the gold and red that dotted his eyes and wings. She lifted her hand up, pausing a centimeter away from his wing; she could feel the heat radiating off of it. When he said nothing, she touched the burn mark gently. It felt like slippery skin, but the burn injury was raised and blistered and angry. The wing trembled.

She couldn't feel a connection from the wing to the water; when she closed her eyes and felt the pulsing of the rivers around her, she still felt nothing at the injured warmth under her hand.

Five minutes had passed. She sighed.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's fine." His wing tucked itself against his back, still dripping red. "It'll heal on his own, eventually."

Something in those words sounded like a lie, but she didn't question him.

"I didn't know dragonkin could get burned," she thought aloud.

"It's the scales that resist fire," he said. He hesitated, looking away from her again.

The rules of her people came back to her, the myths and stories, the regulations, the fear of the creatures that spread fire and war from the skies. At his hesitance, she wondered if there were similar stories about the creatures under water for his people. Was he breaking any rules by talking to her? How many? She counted off the ones she was breaking — and for what reason? Just because? Pity? His sorrowful sigh?

Her thoughts were interrupted when he spread his right wing; it was eight feet long, and when it spread open, there was a rush of heated air that disturbed the waters. The knowledge hit her then about how there must've been different senses of freedom for those in the air and those of the water. It was such a simple thought, and yet she had never realized it.

The wing folded over him, and she was shown the glittering scales. Pressing her hand against it, she moved it downward, realizing that the other direction would have her nicking her skin at the tough exterior. His wing returned to its original position and she pressed her hand back down into the dirt.

"Yours are different." He was looking at her scales peeking out above the water.

She touched her waist, the start of her scales. "They're not for war," she explained. At his expression, she regretted the words immediately; it was just something understood by all, but she supposed that didn't mean she could freely say it.

"They weren't always for war," he said quietly.

Before she could ask, there was a sudden thunderous roar above them. Fire lit the skies; she dropped back into the water and he stood up, a low growl in the depths of his chest.

"You should go back to your waters," he warned.

He spread his wings, ready to take flight; she watched his left wing twitch as if it was breathing, as if it was gasping for air in its last moments. Something crawled into her stomach, something dark, but she didn't know what and why.

"Wait," she said. He did, but then she hesitated.

Their eyes met again; the water felt warm.

"I'll come back," he said quietly, and she didn't know why but she felt better with those words lingering in the air.

She nodded, and then he pushed off into the skies and she dove into the water, rushing toward the cavern, toward the river, toward the ocean where sea and sky merged as one with the intent of gathering as many books on water healing as she could, because if the water could douse the flames, maybe it could start it, too? She hoped it wasn't a childish fantasy.


	10. 11

**A/N:**

Beep boop bop!

Enjoy, friends! Leave a review if you'd like; they make me happy and keep me warm!

* * *

Prompt 11: Parallel

Katara leaned against the counter, biting into her PB&J sandwich. Zuko was thoroughly immersed in his book, paying no attention to his own sandwich.

"What are you even reading?" she asked with a raised brow.

"It's this novel," he said, turning the page quickly, "about parallel universes and stuff. I dunno. It's good."

"Sounds weird," she said, but he didn't rise to the bait. "…I'm going to eat your sandwich if you're not."

He didn't move. She reached over to snatch it off his plate, but he quickly grabbed it and shoved half of it in his mouth, glaring at her half-heartedly; soon after, he started coughing and beating his chest with a fist. She handed him a glass of water, laughing.

"Alright, cool kid," she said with a teasing smirk, taking the other half of his sandwich as he tried to clear out his throat or lungs, or both. "Tell me about the story."

There was a thirty second pause where he was still hacking up anything lodged in the pipes and then chugging down more water.

Finally, when he was settled, he answered, "I already did."

She shook her head at his simplicity. "Details, Zuko."

He shrugged, glancing from her and the paper, but when it looked like she wasn't going to give up (and she wouldn't; he knew better than to read on her watch), he bookmarked the page with his finger and leaned against the counter with a hidden exasperation.

"It's just…" He pursed his lips and stared at a stain on the wall.

"Some time this century, Zuko."

He made a motion of looking up at the ceiling and mouthing the word _why_ , to which she laughed and threw the crusts at him.

"It's kind of weird," he explained after fending off the bread attack. "It's like a collection of stories where the same two characters, Oma and Shu, end up in different universes, like reborn again or something, but they don't know it. And then they go through hardships or whatever. It's something different each time."

"Hmm," she said, nodding her head. It sounded interesting enough. Katara herself was more of a nonfiction reader or a documentary-watcher, but it was fun to listen to what Zuko was obsessing about (especially because the last two weeks he had to suffer through her newfound love for mushrooms and the _Did you know?_ facts about them).

"So," she started. "It's a romance novel?"

"Sort of…" Zuko said, embarrassed.

"Hmm," she hummed again, noticing the red on the ears. "Do they end up together?"

"Not always."

"Wow," she said. "I can't believe you're still reading it."

"What do you mean?"

Now it was her turn to shrug.

He frowned, his eyes scrutinizing her accusingly though she hadn't said anything offensive — yet. Katara pushed herself off the counter and opened the fridge, taking out the orange juice and then grabbing two cups from the cupboards.

"You're kind of a romantic, you know," she remarked. As her back was to him, she smiled to herself, but he didn't get defensive like he usually did.

"…So?" was all he said.

She poured the juice in and then returned the container to the fridge. Handing him his glass, she leaned her back against the surface beside him; he had his arms crossed. She recognized the crinkles around his eyes, the ones that only came out when he was thinking about his purpose in life or his place in the universe or why she always bugged him.

"So I'm surprised you're sticking with it," she finished. "You normally get fed up. Remember that one book, _Betwixt?_ "

His left eye twitched; she hit a sore spot. Katara tried not to laugh. He would never let that book go.

"This is better written," he argued. "And there are action scenes and magic and monsters."

"Uh huh."

She felt the frustrated growl before she heard it. Zuko opened his book back up, cursing when he saw that he had lost his page when he shifted positions.

"I watched a documentary about the theory of parallel universes and stuff," she mentioned suddenly, recalling the late nights eating popcorn, absorbed in the narration, though she couldn't recall the title.

"Cool," he said.

This time, she couldn't keep the laughter in, giggling as she rubbed his hair even though he was a good head and a half taller than her. He always complained that she always messed it up (which was amusing and confusing, as he never did anything with his hair).

"Don't be mad," she snickered.

"I'm not mad," he snapped.

"Okay, then answer my question."

"You didn't ask a question."

"Sure I did," she said innocently. "If you weren't mad, you would've heard it."

He glared at her.

She hadn't asked a question, but she still smiled and blinked without guilt, raising her glass and motioning for him to do the same until they both _clinked_. They sipped it with their pinkies out, and she felt a surge of pride that she knew all of the ins and outs and buttons to press.

"I asked if you believed in them," she said, "in parallel universes and other worlds."

"I dunno," he replied. "You tell me, Miss Scientist."

"Well, there's no definite evidence for their existence, but there's no evidence that they _don't_ exist, either."

Zuko shook his head; his bangs swished side to side as he did so, reminding her to nag him later about getting a haircut.

"That's always your answer," he said.

"Well, that's what I think."

They both finished their drink. She pulled the book from his hands after a bit of coaxing (he still remembered the last time she accidentally dropped it in the toilet — it started off as a harmless joke, but that was how accidents and funny stories always started), and while she read the back and the spine and the ending, he washed the plates and cups.

She was humming a lullaby under her breath when the thought struck her. She closed the book shut with a soft thump; a rush of scented air hit her, the smell of new paper.

"Hey, you think there are parallel versions of us out there?"

From the sink, Zuko answered, "Could be. Why not?"

"You think we're friends?"

"Maybe. Or maybe we're enemies. Maybe I'm hunting you down because you're a fugitive or something. Or, you know, maybe you're an ant and I just stepped on you."

"Hey!" Katara exclaimed, kicking his butt lightly.

He whipped around faster than she thought he could; she swore in surprise. Water droplets flew at her as he shook his hands in her direction, but she quickly regained the upper hand when she held his book as hostage. Readying her foot, she aimed to hit his thigh, but because he moved at a weird angle and she wasn't the best at aiming, she almost hit his crotch. Both of their eyes widened and he jumped back a foot, swearing at her while she snorted and laughed, and then suddenly she was in the air staring at his back because he had lifted her up over his shoulder despite her constant demands that he never do it again.

He made it to the carpet of the living room before falling — she kneed him in the stomach.

"Accident!" she shouted apologetically. "Sorry, sorry!"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, doubled over. "I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

She made a face between guilty and amused, but when he pointed at her necklace and then flicked her nose when she looked down, she knew he wasn't mad. She didn't bother with retaliating, though, knowing that if she tried, she'd probably poke out an eye — his eye, of course, and it would be accidentally.

Katara picked the book off the floor and dusted the cover off. Handing it back to him, she sat down on the ground; he crossed his legs and checked to make sure none of the pages were bent.

"I think we do know each other," she announced.

"Huh?" He didn't look at her, still examining his precious book.

"In the parallel universes."

"Why's that?"

"I dunno," she said. "It's a little weird to think otherwise."

There was a pause. She saw the smile.

"Yeah," he said.

The last page was bent. He flipped to the end and unfolded it, frowning when he saw that the crease was large and deep. She saw his eyes glance at a paragraph and then quickly look away, but it must've been a tantalizing word because he glanced at it again before shutting the book in a panic. It was one of her favorite quirks.

"You wanna know the ending?" she teased.

"No."

"Yeah, you do," she said. "You saw that last paragraph — pretty intense, if I do say so myself. It _is_ pretty good writing."

He stared at her emotionlessly, but he fingered the page and she knew his answer before he did.

"They die," she told him. "Oma and Shu. It's their last death or something. They don't get reborn again — that's what it seemed like, anyways. I only scanned it so that's all I caught."

"Oh," he said, and it came out quietly. She hadn't expected that.

He looked down at the book with an expression that she had only seen once in her life (in front of the glass window where Azula lay on the ground, tied up and foaming at the mouth; and he had been holding her hand so tightly that day that she thought he was trying to merge their limbs together to never again separate), and then her arm twitched in response. She suddenly felt bad for telling him the truth.

"Oh, come on, Zuko," Katara said quickly, pulling him up off the ground. She chunked the book somewhere behind her, not missing the annoyed jerk of his eyebrow. "The real parallel worlds aren't even like that. I bet we get together in all of them — err."

She felt her face heat up.

Katara cleared her throat and averted her gaze. "Well, we don't even know if they exist so it doesn't even matter. Stop looking at me like that. Shut up."


	11. 12

**A/N:**

Hey, friends, here's the next chapter.

Thanks so much for the love, especially to my guest reviewer, who reviewed almost every chapter! I was stoked to see 'em all! Thank you! ORZ

I hope you all enjoy this one!

* * *

Prompt 12: Patience

Zuko and Aunt Wu sat out on her patio, a pot of tea between them. The air was soft and silent; they watched the sunset, saw the first falling of the leaves, and sipped quietly on their tea.

"I loved her first," he said, neither loudly nor softly, neither aggressively nor passively. It was just a statement of fact. An observation. A way of the world. A way of his life.

Then, he repeated it, and this time, he said it quieter, sweeter. He tasted the words, let the images swell inside his chest, felt the curve of each letter forming against his lips and tongue, felt each tiny, subtle movement and wisp of breath necessary to give life to the fluttering right against his ribs.

 _I loved you first._

The tree in Aunt Wu's yard was tall and broad; from his angle, it looked as if its branches were supporting the sky itself. Its leaves were a dark green, but still, they fell in time with the coming of the new season. On a few there were tints of red, as if a change was starting to take form, but before it could fully take hold, the leaf was cut and released. He watched one fall to the ground; it faced upwards toward the sky as it fell, green except for the little dot of fire in the center.

"I saw you in her future," Aunt Wu murmured.

Ah, and there was the ache. But Zuko was a man now, and he understood what each pang against his diaphragm meant, understood that it was as important as the rapid beating; he needed both Agni and Yue, both the left side of his face and the right side, both the sting and the hush.

He inhaled and closed his eyes — laughter, the sound of bells, the rush of the waves — and then exhaled — sunlight, the flash of the stars, the barest touch of shoulders, the desperate yearning in the bone that it could mean more.

"It would be my first time being wrong," Aunt Wu mused.

Zuko chuckled. "You were not wrong," he said. "I _am_ in her future, even if I'm not a part of it. And that is enough. That is fine."

He felt the thrumming in his old wound. He pressed his hand against it and felt the timeworn pulse of electricity. It was something he would do again.

Aunt Wu placed a hand on his knee. "You will be reborn," she said. "You may have her in other lives."

He finished his cup. The tea was cold, but he found he didn't mind.

"Perhaps," he whispered. "But…"

The old woman refilled their cups.

"…But?" she repeated.

"He is a good man," Zuko said. "He will treat her better than I could ever, in any of my future or past lives."

Slowly, she nodded in a dawning understanding, and then turned back to the sunset. "Sometimes, the bird does not come back," she said.

"Yes," he breathed. No one knew that better than he. "And that is okay, too."

Zuko tilted his head upwards. There was a red that spread across the sky in streaks, cutting the blue like fingers reaching for something so, so far away, on the other side of the world, on the other side of the universe, on the other side of time.


	12. 21

**A/N:**

Yes. Yes, I know this is a humongous jump from prompt number 12.

No, I do not know why the muses have cursed me so.

* * *

Prompt 21: Unravel

"I don't think we should be doing this…"

Katara opened another drawer and rifled through the papers and books. There wasn't much in this one compared to the one above it, but neither had anything of interest. There was a broken toy sword that she picked up, thinking of his two blades that he always kept close beside him.

Suki shifted noisily near the door. "Katara…"

"What? It's not even a big deal; it's fine," Katara said, opening a cabinet. "They should've locked the door then if they didn't want anyone coming in."

"It _was_ locked… You picked it."

"Oh." She had hoped Suki hadn't remembered. "Well, they should've locked it better. Anyway! If you're not going to help, just keep lookout. I'll take all of the blame." She huffed, her hands on her hips in an attempt to look like one who had everything under control. Suki made a noise of disagreement and guilt in response, but she turned around and glanced outside into the hall, making sure they were alone.

With nothing at the desk, Katara made her way over to the bed. She was going to find something, even if she had to turn the entire room upside down, inside out, several times over! He was going to pay for embarrassing her last night. She was going to make sure of it.

"Sokka was the one who told the story," Suki mumbled from the entrance.

"Well! He laughed, a lot, okay?"

"We all laughed."

Katara glared at her irritably, clearly displeased that Suki was more interested in picking holes in her reasoning than actually helping. "He laughed the hardest," she said, and the other girl merely shrugged her shoulders and turned back around.

It didn't matter; she cleared her head. Despite whatever Suki said, she was still going to do what she was going to do because she promised herself last night while she was red with embarrassment. And Katara kept to her promises. Besides, Suki couldn't deny the fact that finding humiliating evidence of Zuko during his baby days or terrible pre-teen days would be absolutely _amazing_.

Katara poked around the bed and the beside table. What if he had a diary? She snickered to herself. Zuko, with a diary, how great would that be! She'd probably die laughing before even reading it.

Grabbing the pillow, she moved it off to the other side to check behind the bed when she felt something shift awkwardly inside it. She blinked, feeling around; on the other side was something hard and rectangular. Her heart jumped.

"He _does_ have a diary…!"

Suki turned to her. "What?"

Katara grinned and cackled under her breath as she reached inside the pillow case, pulling out a black book.

"Pfft. Of course it would be black." She shook her head. "He's always moping."

She flipped to a page that seemed to be bookmarked, feeling power surge through her fingers. What secrets would this book contain? How many embarrassing stories could she find? Was he rejected eight times by a girl he liked? Did he not know how to swim? Did he suck on his thumb until ten or wet the bed until thirteen? All of the possibilities…

She knew she was going to have a delightful time picking out her favorites to pay him back tenfold for the humiliation she received last night.

The page she had flipped to was a blank one, but it had been bookmarked by a small family portrait, drawn by a steady hand and protected by the book from age and dust. There was crazy Ozai, who actually looked…regal in the picture. One couldn't tell that his head was full of the annihilation of other cultures. And then there was Azula who looked young, instead of clever and sneaky and vengeful. In the corner was a pretty woman with her hand on the shoulder of a young Zuko's shoulder.

That must've been his mom.

Her eyes drifted. Zuko didn't have his scar then. He looked to be seven or eight. Then…when?

She swallowed, feeling a dark lump drop into her stomach, a foreshadowing that maybe this book wasn't what she had made it out to be, but she shook her head and trudged on. It was for her honor and pride! She'd get him back.

Katara flipped to the last entry, her eyes widening when she saw that the handwriting was different, older, messier yet more stable; the word choice was different, more varied and similar to how he spoke now. It had to be a younger entry made by an older Zuko. She snickered. How long had he been writing in his diary?

"Katara," Suki said from the doorway. "Did you find anything good?"

But she had already started reading, and thus she could not reply because the words and the ink and the smoothness of the page pulled her into Zuko's mind at that specific moment in time. She was expecting something about having to capture the Avatar or about how his Uncle only ever drank tea and always lost Pai Sho pieces.

She found something completely different.

Her heart broke.

His voice whispered the words softly in her ears as she read them; she felt her her chest expand and swell with all that he had to say, all that he couldn't say. There was a painful sorrow hidden in the blank spaces and blank pages that were supposed to be filled, but he didn't know what to fill it with or how.

She read the thoughts he must've had when looking at them, the longing, read the trickles of confusion and anguish and wry laughter and solemn curiosity and emotionless acceptance. He must've thought of this constantly while he laid awake beneath the darkened skies as they slept, his sleeping bag feet away from theirs. These ideas and memories and questions were probably swirling in the back of his mind right at that moment, even as he was training with Aang, even as they would eat and tell jokes, even when he would laugh at Sokka's embarrassing and humiliating stories of Katara as a young girl.

She closed the book.

Did he even get a chance to create humiliating stories in his childhood?

"What's wrong?" Suki asked. "What did it say?"

Katara looked down at the black book and thought he must've grabbed this color unconsciously.

"I shouldn't have done this," she said, and then slipped the book back in the case and rearranged the bed. "Come on, let's go."

When Suki turned to leave, Katara quickly wiped at her eyes. They both walked toward the center of the beach house, hearing the last remnants of shouts as Aang and Zuko were finishing up their training session.

Zuko had a towel over his neck, using it to wipe down the sweat. Aang smiled at her, but she didn't notice, staring only at Zuko, trying to peer through his skin to see what was hidden beneath the bones.

And when she couldn't, she walked over to him and threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. He was tensed and confused, but she didn't know what to say and if there was anything she could say.

He wrapped his arms around her waist then, and she didn't know if he knew or if he just understood, but she held on tighter for all the days he wrote secretly in his book, under the guise that things would get better with time when they didn't.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Cue cheesy grin as I bow down and hope you enjoyed this chapter and that you will continue to enjoy what I put out next.

Cue cheesy grin as I ask you to review, teeheehee.

I hope y'all have an awesome sauce day!


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